Turn To Steam
by Zarius
Summary: Spoilers For "The Empty Hearse". What if "Theory One" was real? What if Anderson was right? As Philip rambles on about cultures becoming vapour and attempts to play a part very badly, Molly thinks back to the events of the fall and to the most important parting words ever left to her...


**SHERLOCK:**

**TURN TO STEAM**

**WRITTEN BY ZARIUS**

**(Contains Spoilers for "The Empty Hearse")**

**Note: Like every other Sherlockian that enjoyed it, I was mesmerised by "The Empty Hearse" and found it one of the most uplifting and inspiring episodes of Sherlock ever put to screen...but one has to wonder just how much of the Reienchbach resolution was fully revealed? We got an explanation from Sherlock, but as Anderson says, "it's not how I'd do it", before immediately nitpicking and deconstructing the explanation.**

**Well, we all got to see how Anderson would have done it...as implausible as it realistically is, I'm just the type of wishful thinker that wants "The Kiss That Counted" to have been real and to have had an impact on the characters. So here for your enjoyment is a fic that dares to claim Anderson was right. Have fun.**

**-Zarius**

* * *

"Don't you see Sally?" Anderson said to an ever predictably frosty and disinterested Donavon, London is our world, and the world as we know it is ending, not in an apocalyptic ending reminiscent of revelation, but an end in the current paradigm of old fashioned concepts and notions. The mentalities we all have in this city, ranging from political to philosophical, to the art of deduction, it's all being reprocessed. As we gather more and more information, we transcend to a more vaporous state. Soon we'll achieve ultimate complexity, our culture is..."

"You're not Sherlock Holmes Philip, stop trying to remind me of how hazy the last few days can be and take your tea" Donovan snapped, cutting Anderson off of his rambling. Anderson coughed awkwardly to break the tension in the cafeteria as he stared blankly at the half open cheese scone smacked with a dab of butter. He'd spread it so evenly across it, but had yet to take a bite.

He was hungry for something else. And he was trying to convey that to Donovan so that she could see it and get on board, so he wouldn't need to hold his own hand as he went through not so much a gradual breaking down, but was undergoing a break-through of new realizations.

"I feel like I need to get into the spirit of things, I'm a house detective now, piecing together the puzzle, newspaper clippings and all that, it's decked out all over my wall, Holmes made it all the rage" Anderson said excitedly.

"And in doing so, he raised the ire of mine" Donavan pointed out, "Sad thing is, even now that he's been acquitted it's just going to balloon him in structure. We're going to get copycats coming out of the woodwork trying to be him and meddling in business they shouldn't have any say in dealing with"

"We were a part of his downfall Sally. The pair of us slithered in like snake-oil salesman and pitched Greg that ridiculous idea about him being a fraud and we pursued it to its bitter conclusion, and we revelled in it, that was our fantasy come true.."

"No, there is no 'we' in this. Do you hear me? I was following hunches I always had about Holmes, I did what I did to make sure he was out of the way so we wouldn't have a worst-case scenario where he would be standing over a body causing the case he was there to solve. I paved my road to hell with good intentions"

"And I was with you. 100%" Anderson continued, "But we let our professionalism slip didn't we? We got too caught up in assuming we could estimate Sherlock and that we had all the pieces of the puzzle fitting together...then he had to jump, then the questions started rising up and the pressure mounted. You can't just skip these last two years Donavan, you have to blend into them, because only by merging with the events and the memories can you sense the full scale of deception and compromise from the opposite end"

"I'm at my wit's end with this whole situation" Donavan continued, exasperated by the tone and pace of the discussion, it was causing her to slowly lose all interest in her lunch.

"I'm tired of hearing about it, but not as tired of standing up for myself as you so clearly are. You've let this eat at you. No job, alienating what few contacts and friends you have with the frequent spinning of a broken record. Your one point has been made time and again and we don't have to bite hard and swallow what you have to sell if we feel it's implausible. Your insistence that your version of events is the correct one takes all the sensation out of correct and logical procedure, painting a vivid tapestry of a world where heroes rise and avail you of the pitchfork attitude you had towards them. It's guilt Anderson, pure guilt"

"You're not better than me Sally. You were an integral part of the package and you can't just be content to stick it all in my lap. We carry the burden"

"The only thing I'm carrying is my lunch out of this place and away from you" Donovan said, grabbing her purse, picking up her chicken sandwich, depositing it in the bag, before sitting up "You need to get going yourself, stop dragging yourself behind everyone else. You're turning to jelly"

"I'm turning to steam. We all are"

"I'm full of steam now. I'm tired, I'm angry, and worse, now I'm bored" Donavan said before storming out of the cafeteria

"Fine go, and just one thing, I was quoting Alan Moore, not Sherlock Holmes" snapped Anderson to his disinterested partner

He finally picked up the cheese scone and took one bite out of it before immediately tiring of hanging about, the receiver of his venting had vanished from view and there was nothing left to hold him there.

As he exited the cafeteria and crossed the street, he noticed someone familiar walking ahead of him. A female short in stature, her hair held back, wearing a brown coat, her neck coated in red-and-white scarf, she was carrying two shopping bags.

Anderson steadily picked up the pace and ran over to her, cutting her off by standing in front of her and obstructing her pathway.

"You're...erm, in my way a bit" said a surprised and flummoxed Molly Hooper.

"Won't take long Ms. Hooper...Molly, I wanted to ask you a couple of things" Anderson said, folding his arms behind his back and glancing at her with an arrogantly imitative posture that stirred up unwelcome memories for her.

"I'd like to take us back in time...to the day he jumped" Anderson spoke

"Please, I'd rather not" Molly said, trying to skirt past Anderson. Anderson grabbed her arm

"No wait, please, hear me out" Anderson pleaded.

Molly placed both hands on her hips and glared at him annoyingly.

"It's just...when we came over to St. Bart Hospital an hour or so after the fall those few years back to ask questions about...well, the jump, whether or not you had witnessed it, you were watching a couple of workman at a nearby window, we talked to them and they said you had been fixed to the spot for most of the afternoon following the jump, even as they were busy fixing up a fresh window because the previous one had, bizarrely, been reduced to shards like it'd been broken into from the outside. Odd considering how many floors up you were. You obviously hung around because you were in shock, but then you had just saw a man fall to his death"

"I've been around suicide victims a long time, just...never seen one in motion before" Molly said

"Yes, is that why you were so flushed when we interviewed you a couple of hours later? Were you embarrassed by the situation, collecting your emotions, trying to bottle it in knowing you had an autopsy of Sherlock to run with, but there was something about your facials, and it doesn't take a consulting private and public dick to make that deduction, it just takes one simple everyday eventuality. That of love Molly dear. You sort of looked a little flushed in the facial features. You had the same look on your face that you had that Christmas"

"Excuse me?" Molly said, her immediate annoyance detectable in her voice.

" Lestrade told me how you were at that party trying to 'surprise' Holmes with a gift, how he essentially put you on the spot, made you feel distressingly uncomfortable..and then, and this was rare form from him, he...erm...he thanked you and gave you a peck on the cheek just there" Anderson continued, prodding his greasy finger slightly to the side of Molly's cheek that Sherlock had bestowed his own special kind of gratitude to.

"You're trying to sound exactly like him. It's...strange. And a bit sad" Molly observed

"Yes, that was most inappropriate I should imagine" Anderson said downheartedly, realizing he was in love with the part too much, "I don't know what I was thinking. Forgive me, I didn't think..."

"That's what...well...he was for, don't you reckon?" Molly replied,

"Quite right" Anderson said, breathing a bit more heavily

Molly felt the pulse of cold water in her hand as droplets of rain danced around and on top of the pair. She pulled out her umbrella and opened it, raising it to shield the top of her head.

"Is there anything...anything at all, that I can do for you Molly?" Anderson said

"You can buy me dog food" Molly sharply said. Anderson was puzzled

"Dog...food?" Anderson quizzed, taken aback and baffled.

"My partner, Tom, he has a dog, it's just coming up to his feeding time. Pet store is just ahead of us"

"Ah. I see...so...how long have you been seeing Tom?" Anderson inquired

"A year or so now, it's gotten...erm...serious, a bit, see?" Molly said, brandishing the small golden ring on her finger. Anderson was taken aback slightly

"Ah, congratulations. Quite right to move on I suppose"

"I need to get a move on right now, are you paying for the pedigree or not?" Molly asked

Anderson nodded and walked her to the pet store. As he did so, he mentally chastised himself for putting Molly on the spot the way he did, knowing how much Sherlock had meant to her through word of mouth from those around her field of work, those within the force. He thought for sure he could trip her up, but if there's one thing Sherlock could count on for her silence, and her co-operation, it would be her unconditional loyalty.

Molly kept her own thoughts to herself...thoughts that, prior to Anderson turning up, she hadn't entertained in a while.

Thoughts of what the workman were _really_ doing with the window.

Thoughts of the bustling and frantic activity of the homeless network

Thoughts of what a hypnotist got to do during an all too convenient lunch break from his latest stunt to administer John and a few other members of the public who witnessed the closed-off area his own unique interpretation of events to their collective psyches.

She wondered just how long it would take before the memory of what had happened would jog in to some of those people, John included with that last bit. For John it seems grief had helped embed it in his mentality, but for others not so emotionally invested it may have worn off now, and they may soon be talking.

And then there were thoughts of the greater details of the deal Moriarty had struck with Mycroft, which she had been informed of later in the two months she spent after the deed she participated in was done.

Moriarty's ring of crime was vast and deeply rooted in neat and tidy corners of the globe. Within that network there had been schemers of the likely and unlikely sort. Blonde female drug-smugglers hidden within a sect of Buddhist monks, a serial killer who's calling card was leaving flakes in victims' ice cream cones, and domestic roustabouts who's crimes against family proved so devastating it commanded the attention of a one-time only jury assembly in Germany.

So many petty children. All trying to play their parts. All getting so bored in their positions. All eager to spread out.

No wonder James wanted to die so badly at that swimming pool. He wanted to be absolved of the burden. That which you create will almost always encapsulate and grow beyond all form of control.

The realization of the Frankenstein Monster paradigm.

Sherlock could see his suicide coming a mile off. He always told her he couldn't, that it was Mycroft who had counted on it knowing the state of mind Moriarty was in, but she knew he was trying to make her feel like he was capable of displaying dents his deductive armour. Only he could be so clever and eager to give detail to the lie.

Sherlock simply didn't want to be faced with the choice that he would have to make.

For Moriarty had indeed hated Sherlock, but he also knew he was the only one capable of destroying what he had created, and so in fulfilling his first and foremost wish in his mind, that of his desire to absolve himself of the Frankenstein's monster and depart the world with some semblance of self-respect and victory, his second wish, to see Sherlock 'blessed' with the task of confronting the beast, to spend his days away from the people he had only just learned to count on and appreciate in his own way, to spend his days underground, to be a predator lost to his ever alienating skills and social awkwardness, it was the perfect piano arrangement to James. Such a poetic and tantalising piece of exit music.

The clue had always been there

The solution to the problem

The final problem

_'Staying Alive...Staying alive'_

Molly didn't want to go to this place in her mind any longer. She didn't want to tread carelessly into the wind in case something heavy and hard came flying out of left field and left emotional devastation. The scar was still so raw, and only a select few could see it.

Chief among them being her circle of friends, who swiftly arranged their own brand of emergency surgery, and provide her with the right blood type she needed. The only blood she'd ever bleed for.

On the surface, to any who knew her, Tom was nothing but a replacement goldfish. Even her friends knew this, but they were so eager to help her move along they didn't deem it fit to complain.

However, Molly saw it differently. Tom was the _reminder_ of the precious parting words given to her by Sherlock after the two months spent in suburban paradise held up at her own home. Memories of great passion Sherlock had given her as gratitude for her willingness to help and risk her own career and well-being to keep him together.

It seemed justifiable and quite appropriate for Sherlock to surrender himself to her. If one is going to spend some of their days with a woman who's heart burns for you, it is better to lead them into the building than leave them out in the cold.

She hated only that it had to end. Duty called. And Sherlock, committed as always to the work, was quick and attentive to his true calling

The words that were left with her on the day the most important man in her life went out into the wilderness to combat Moriarty's twisted legacy were simply to go on living, to always count, and always, always, let others see her.

She vowed she would. That she would move forward, that she would give him something to talk to her about, to share with her, in the eventuality Holmes did return to her, knowing that they wouldn't have the same exact precarious times they had shared in those two months after the fall, she would be mentally and emotionally prepared to pass any and all of his tests. She was, as always, his most attentive of students.

She knew, however, that Anderson was not an exception to the rules that had been established and kept in place these long two years, that there were other people who probably were slowly realizing that, in some way, wool had been pulled over everyone's eyes.

As she stood outside the pet shop, she watched several cars and busses pass by, some elderly people got out on the other end of the street and meekly walked past some benches. It was a quiet sight to gaze upon, giving Molly all the warm tingling sensations of growing old with someone to care for, growing old with someone who could see her, and she thought everyone should bask and revel in the same feelings she was having with Tom and before that, with Sherlock.

When Anderson came out holding the small tin of Pedigree Chum in his hand, Molly smiled and channelled her thoughts through her patterns of speech

"How long have you been...going at this?" she asked, "I heard about you losing your job over it, it must obsess you"

"Oh, it slowly crept up on me. One time I was editing a movie in my spare time, fan editing, you know, it's all the rage these days"

"No, I don't think it is" said Molly, correcting him on how niche the habit was amongst film going communities.

"Yes, well, one time I was editing this movie, _Fantasia_ I believe, I was trying to give it a soundtrack by Jan Hammer, and, I got to this one scene of blankness, a gradual unveiling of the universe, and I had a revelation when watching the slow formation and turning of the Earth in the clip...the mystery, that's what it's about isn't it? What you don't see rising out of the regular expectations and solutions. The mystery is what's unique, it's what motivated Sherlock, it's what motivated us all in the force, the desire to make a difference, solve the case, put things right with the world and make people think differently about the way it all works...and from viewing that clip it all made the most sense in the world. I just wish others could see it that way"

"Maybe they do, maybe you should form...I don't know, a group, pick out a few like-minded faces in the crowd"

"Do you think that'll work?"

"It'll give you company, and that always works" Molly assured him

"Maybe...I...hope you realize that, if I did this, I'll still be investigating you" Anderson said, "I'm sure you're involved somehow, and were involved more deeply than you let on, invested in it all personally"

"So long as you don't confront me when I'm walking the dog I'm fine with that" Molly said, taking the tin of dog food from Anderson's hand and slipping it into her bag.

"Goodbye now" Molly said, hanging her head low and turning to cross the street, steadily picking up the pace and eventually power walking away from him.

As Anderson watched her go, he thought back to the puzzle pieces, how some things didn't make sense no matter how much he tried to rationalize them. The one notion that he refused to let 'into the building' as it were was the simple idea that no matter what version of events comes out as the real one, whatever made more sense in the cerebellum would be the most preferable.

Anderson laughed that idea off. After all, such a realization was bound to drive anyone mad. And he couldn't afford to be.

He was going to follow Molly's suggestion. He was going to form a hive mind.

For somewhere amongst the ever increasingly irrelevant structures of imaginary notions made real in business, philosophy and ideological structure, there remained a constant need for a different framework. A different sort of realization as to who we are and how we exist.

Alan Moore said it best. Even if, to an extent, he was paraphrasing similar ideas echoed long ago by Marx.

History is a heat, the heat of acuminated information and complexity, the world is at a social boiling point, and our culture must slowly and steadily, turn to steam


End file.
